—Ugh… Shit… my head…—
The pain was so sharp it was blinding. I could barely keep my eyes open. Every muscle burned, as if something vicious was tearing them apart from the inside. My body refused to move. Even breathing hurt—like forcing air through a throat lined with blades.
I tried to shift, but something heavy pressed down on me. With an almost inhuman effort, I lifted my head, trying to make sense of my surroundings.
Darkness. Or close to it. A single flickering flame stood out, its faint red glow forming a small circle of warmth. The light barely reached a few meters, dimly revealing uneven piles of… something scattered around me.
Mmf… mmf…
—Damn… what… is that smell?—
I frowned. My senses came back reluctantly, and the first to greet me was a stench so thick and sharp it felt like a blade up my nose. The taste of it clung to my throat, heavy and rancid, coating my tongue.
It wasn't just bad—it was wrong.
I tried to push myself up, but whatever pinned me wasn't solid. It was soft. Warm.
A cold shiver ran through me. My heartbeat quickened.
—Come on… move…— I growled between my teeth.
My hand scraped the floor until it found something solid. I used it to push myself sideways, and the weight slid off with a sick, wet sound.
Heat pressed against my back—metal, vibrating with a constant warmth. An industrial furnace. The reddish glow spilling from it revealed what had fallen onto me.
A face.
Or what was left of one.
The eye sockets were empty. The skin cut open in clean, precise lines across the skull and neck, like someone had carved a grotesque map into the flesh.
—Hhh—!— My voice caught. I shoved the body away, watching it flop onto the floor like a rag doll.
—Shit…— I whispered, bile rising in my throat.
Slowly, I turned my head, ignoring the pounding in my skull. The shadows around me began to clear.
Rust-eaten walls. Dark stains fused into the floor like scars that would never fade.
Corpses.
Stacked in every corner. Some still had pieces of metal embedded in their flesh; others were nothing but skeletons wrapped in cables and corroded plates. The faces—or what remained—were eyeless, skinned, stripped of anything that made them human.
The truth hit hard.
This wasn't just a corpse warehouse. I was inside a crematorium… one where the bodies weren't laid to rest, but processed. Dismantled piece by piece before being burned.
—I have to get out…— I muttered.
With effort, I stood, leaning against the nearest wall. My vision was still blurry, so I stayed close to whatever I could feel was solid.
I moved slowly, forcing my unsteady steps forward, avoiding the bodies in my path. I didn't care who they had been.
Still… I kept a small measure of respect. Not just for them—also for myself. I was naked, and the thought of a sharp edge cutting into my skin kept me alert.
—I can't see anything…— I whispered, unease creeping in. Every time my foot brushed against something soft, my stomach turned. I didn't need light to know what it was.
BANG!
A metallic crash exploded from the far side of the room. The echo rattled through me, and I fell onto my back.
Then I saw it.
From a door at the far end, a harsh white light flooded in, cutting through the darkness. The glare revealed mountains of bodies thrown together without order, flesh and chrome tangled into grotesque heaps.
The same scene as before—only multiplied.
But that wasn't the worst part.
Two people stood in the doorway.
"Ugh! This place smells like fucking rot," one growled, covering his nose with the back of his hand. "What the hell's Bruce doing? Wasn't it his turn this month? This crap's been sitting here for days and now we have to clean it."
"Trash…" the other chuckled darkly. "Only thing that smells worse here is you."
The first snapped back instantly.
"Fuck you. If my smell bothers you so much, you strip the implants off the fat ones. Why the hell didn't they just burn all this shit at once? Place looks like a rat nest."
"Because Bruce is busy dismantling that Tyger Claws batch from yesterday. Didn't you hear?" the second replied, stepping on something that crunched under his boot. "This time they brought in decent chrome. Rich kids' chrome."
"So… corpo trash," the first spat, kicking a rusted mechanical arm that rolled across the floor. "Still sells fast. Rats on the black market love showing off corpo parts, even if they're caked in shit."
"Heh… fine by me. If they want to pay big for painted scrap, let 'em." The second crouched, tore something from a corpse's neck, and stuffed it into a filthy sack. "As long as they pay, I don't care where it comes from."
Tyger Claws?
—No… this can't be…— I whispered.
The name hit like a surge of electricity. I didn't want to believe it, but the pieces were falling into place.
A possibility I didn't want to be real.
If it was… I wasn't in some random city. Not just a corpse warehouse.
This was worse.
Much worse.
I was in the rotting heart of one of the worst places to end up.
A Scav den.